


Reciprocity

by LananiA3O



Series: Batfam Week - Arkham-verse [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, PTSD, References to Canonical Character Death, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: Some people were married to their work. Lucius has always worked hard to avoid that pitfall, but that doesn’t mean he does not care. Wayne Enterprises and its owners have always been good to him, and he is determined to repay the favor, far beyond Bruce Wayne’s grave.





	Reciprocity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerusee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerusee/gifts).



> Batfam Week entry for day 5, theme “Legacy”. Aka “Lucius is one of the most undervalued, underappreciated people in Arkham verse and this is why”.  
> Gifted to Cerusee, who first gave me the idea to do POVs for ALL the Arkham batfam characters over the course of my series. Cerusee, I hope you will enjoy this conclusion of the Arkham batfam heptalogy.

_It’s a girl. Her name is Laura Irene. She is the cutest thing ever. Love you, dad._

Lucius smiled as he opened the photo that had come with the text. The tiny baby in his son’s arms smiled at the camera as if it were the most exciting thing she had seen in her entire life. Given that Laura Irene Fox was only a few minutes old, Lucius could not blame her. One day, he’d be happy to tell her that he had spent a good minute looking at her picture the same way.

Life had been kind to Lucius Fox. He had met the most wonderful woman on the face of the earth just a year before leaving school and had married her the year after they had both graduated. She had gone on to give him four wonderful children – two sons and two daughters – who had each been a blessing and a joy to raise and who had grown up to become kind-hearted, ambitious adults in their own rights, each with different dreams, careers, and walks of life. They, in turn, had given him six grandchildren so far, with Laura being the youngest addition to the family, and the first granddaughter to boot. And life had not stopped there.

In a time when racism had still been running rampant, often unchecked and unpunished, Laura Wayne had shown no qualms about instantly promoting a talented, young, black man from a simple archive clerk to a proper accounting position, where his affinity for numbers had quickly proven to be a boon in rooting out the leeches and vultures that picked Wayne Enterprises clean from the inside. In spite of the many ugly rumors that had sprung from her support of Lucius, she had used part of her newly inherited fortune to send him off to one of the most prestigious business schools in the country, where he had graduated summa cum laude, and she had graciously welcomed him back into a managing position of one of the smaller branches of Wayne Enterprises. He would have to ask his son later, but Lucius felt quite certain that his many stories of Laura’s support had been at least partially influential in the naming of his granddaughter.

By the time Bruce was born, Thomas Wayne had already inherited Wayne Enterprises and Lucius had been one of the most important managing directors in the company. Thomas had promptly cut through what remained of the glass ceiling with the precision expected of a surgeon and had promoted Lucius to CEO. The resulting raise in salaries had been enough to afford moving his family into the suburbs in Bristol, a fancy side of town that was normally almost inaccessible for people from his background. Lucius remembered the day he and Sadie had moved into their new, spacious house, dancing the night away while pondering which color to put on the wall for their unborn baby boy’s bedroom.

Life had continued being kind for Lucius, but it had not done the same for the Waynes. The night he had received the call from Alfred would be etched into his memory forever.  He had been feeding his ten-month old baby girl – the second girl and third child in total for him and Sadie – and had been ready to tuck her in, when the phone had rung. Somehow he had managed to express his condolences and thank Alfred for calling him, before dropping the receiver and breaking into tears. Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne had been among the two kindest, gentlest people that had ever walked the Earth. Good friends. Excellent employers. Models of human decency. It wasn’t fair that they should be taken from this world so soon.

It wasn’t fair, but it was real, and Lucius was enough of a realist, enough of a pragmatic and experienced person, to know what was going to come next.

The vultures had descended on Wayne Enterprises, both from the inside and from the outside. Thomas Wayne’s instructions had been clear: Bruce was to inherit the company as soon as he turned twenty-one. Until then, Lucius was to remain in charge of everything. Unfortunately, quite a few people had seemed to miss the memo. Even more had seemed to ignore it. He had kept the legal fights and office nastiness away from Bruce as much as he could, but Bruce Wayne had always been a smart boy. No wonder then that Lucius had found him in his father’s office one day, waiting patiently by the bar while Lucius returned from his latest meeting.

“Don’t let them take the company!” Bruce had suddenly blurted out over the glass of grape juice Lucius’ assistant Sandra had poured for him. “Luthor, Cobblepot, and all the others. Don’t let them take Wayne Enterprises! Please.”

Lucius had smiled at him, wrapping both of his hands around Bruce’s tiny fists. “Of course, not. Your father trusted me with this company, and I’ll keep it safe and sound until you’re old enough to have it.”

“You can keep it.” Bruce had scowled at him then. It had been the first time, but it had been very, very far from being the last. “I don’t want it.”

“Not yet,” Lucius had said, “but maybe you will need it eventually. If and when you do, it will be right here.”

Lucius was a man of his word. He had promised to keep Wayne Enterprises safe, and safe he had kept it. Through economic ups and downs, through dozens of take-over attempts from other businesses, through hundreds of lawsuits, through two earthquakes, and through the ever-present dent that Gotham’s criminal element made in the incentives for investors and workers alike to come to Gotham, throughout it all, Lucius had kept Wayne Enterprises safe and profitable, same as the Wayne Foundation.

And when Mr. Wayne had decided to leave Gotham to go God only knew where after graduating high school, Lucius had waited. He had waited patiently, guarding the company until its owner’s return eight years later.

Bruce Wayne, the young boy he had once known, had grown up to be a formidable statue of a man, and the first time he had walked into the office, Lucius had barely recognized him. There had been an additional harshness, a certain... darkness, to the man who had looked so much like Thomas in some ways, but then again not, and for the first two years, Lucius had not been able to understand why.

What he had understood was that Bruce wanted Wayne Tech’s Weapons and Ammunition division gone. Shut down. Wiped from the books. Obliterated. The more defensively-minded projects were shipped off to other departments, and from this point forward, every single project that was even remotely weaponizable had to go through Bruce himself. Over those enigmatic two years, Lucius had lost count of just how many promising and highly lucrative inventions had been aborted in their conception before anyone not covered by WE’s extensive NDAs had ever even heard of them. He had asked the question ‘why’ exactly twice and both times the answer had been a glare that could have melted titanium, followed by the words ‘because I say so’. Lucius had nodded and relented. He was the CEO, but the company was not his. It was not his place to judge.

On January 2nd, 2006, little more than a week after the night of the Blackgate riots, and only a day after the Goth Corp scandal, Bruce had called upon Lucius to meet him, not in his office as usual, but rather in the manor. The strange choice of locale had made sense as soon as he had seen the cave and its contents. The slight hint of apprehensiveness in Bruce’s look had vanished the instant Lucius had marveled at the suit, the car, and the gadgets, rather than fleeing from the cave and decrying his employer as an insane vigilante.

Bruce Wayne was not insane. Neither was Batman. They were what Gotham needed: a generous, charismatic hand to support the parts of the city that were good, and a strong, relentless hand to punish the parts that were not. Lucius had been happy to help.

He had spent the next ten years supporting his employer in building half a dozen suits, three cars, two planes, and countless gadgets to aid his mission, carefully steering Wayne Tech’s development focus and ongoing projects in just the right directions, and building a network of subsidiaries and off-shoots that bordered on illegal, yet lent itself perfectly to financing the Caped Crusader. He had kept Wayne Enterprises safe and successful. And for ten years he had been able to do the same for Batman.

And Robin. And Batgirl. And Nightwing. And the second Robin. And the third Robin.

His first reaction to Mr. Wayne bringing under-age helpers into this dangerous world he had created for himself had been carefully veiled outrage. If it had been one of his own sons or daughters, they would have been grounded for life. It was dangerous, reckless, irresponsible, and most likely very unhelpful to the mental stability of anyone involved. However, both Richard and Miss Gordon had made it very clear to him that _they_ had been the ones joining Batman in his crusade, not the other way around. Jason... had had an indomitable stubbornness that bordered on unhealthy and forbade any kind of discussion. In a lot of ways, looking at him had been like looking at young Mr. Wayne again, back in his early years, and that alone had convinced Lucius that arguing would get him nowhere. And Timothy... Timothy had been almost an adult by the time he had become Robin. Trying to talk him out of it would have been like telling a boy one week shy of his eighteenth birthday that he was not mature enough to vote or get married.

Richard’s departure from the manor had hit all of them hard. Jason’s death had hit even harder. Miss Gordon’s paralyzing injury had seemed like the cream on top of a cake of cruelty, with the death of the Drakes being the cherries on top.

And now, Bruce Wayne himself and his loyal butler and friend Alfred were gone as well. Lucius sank into his chair with a deep sigh.

Mr. Wayne would never abandon Gotham, Lucius was sure of that. Sure, he had left the city many years ago, for several years in fact, but he had done so to return stronger, smarter, and generally more capable than before. He had not just wandered off aimlessly, abandoning the city to its grim fate and the whims of its criminal elements. He had left with a purpose and returned with a purpose, and this felt exactly the same. Lucius was sure of it. Bruce Wayne was not dead. Even if he had tried to end his life, he would not have done it with such a spectacle, and he would certainly not have dragged Alfred down with him.

Of course, the public story was not that this had been a suicide. Lucius did not even want to imagine the nightmarish press conferences that would have resulted from that. He had spent enough time shooting down noisy reporters and nagging lawyers over the last four months already. Blaming the explosion of the manor on any of the many, many people who wanted Batman dead was easy, plausible, and a lot less likely to make his life any _harder, but that did not mean he had to believe it himself. Lucius did_ not believe it himself. No one could have done that much damage to the manor without either Mr. Wayne, Alfred, or Lucius hearing about it. It was simply a story they fed to the media.

“Mr. Fox,” Clara’s voice came loud and clear through the intercom. “Mr. Todd is here to see you.”

Well, no one except for the one young man who had already demonstrated that he could. Lucius got up quickly and walked over to the door. He took one last, deep breath, then opened the door to let in his guest.

“Good evening, Jason. Please, come on in.”

“Thanks, Lucius.”

The same caution and uneasiness that had been there just two weeks ago, when Lucius had presented Mr. Wayne’s will to his heirs, was still there, but at the very least Jason looked better now. Not quite so pale. Not quite so worn down. Not quite so... haunted. He was still a far cry from the seemingly unbreakable boy Lucius had met all those years ago, but the sight made his heart feel just a little lighter, nonetheless. He gestured towards the stools near the bar. Not the most common way to greet a guest, but given everything they were about to discuss, perhaps it was for best.

“Would you like a drink, Jason?”

“Do you still have some of that Santa Priscan rum?” Lucius nodded. “I’ll have a shot of that, then.”

‘Shot’ of course meant ‘a glass’ and Lucius poured without complaining. Yes, technically the boy was only twenty, but Lucius sincerely doubted that this was the worst he had ever done to himself.

“So...” He poured a glass of bourbon for himself and settled down on the stool next to Jason’s. “How have you been doing, Jason? I heard Miss Gordon provided you with an apartment. Is it as good as she advertised?”

Jason downed half his glass, then looked at him in a mixture of bewilderment and mistrust. “Lucius... how can you even make small-talk with me? You know what I did. You _know_.”

“I do,” Lucius answered over a cautious sip. “And frankly, I still don’t quite understand how you did it.” His gaze fell onto his desk at the back center of the room, and Lucius could not help but chuckle as the memory wormed its way back into his brain.

“You know... that night, Mr. Wayne took down Thomas Elliott, right here in this room. Mr. Elliott had murdered about a dozen people and had used grafts from their faces to make himself look exactly like Mr. Wayne. All because he wanted to ruin Mr. Wayne’s life, because Thomas Wayne had spoiled Mr. Elliott’s plan to kill both of his own parents. I remember looking at Mr. Wayne when it was all done and saying ‘it never ceases to amaze me, the lengths some people will go to pursue some twisted notion of revenge.’”

“Which proves my point,” Jason said before taking another chug. “You still have not answered my question, though.”

Lucius smiled at that. The apple truly had not fallen far from the tree. “Neither have you answered mine.” When Jason raised an eyebrow at that, Lucius sighed. “It was not small talk, Jason. I am genuinely interested in how you are doing, because while I may not understand the lengths you went to in order to try to murder Mr. Wayne any more than I understand Mr. Elliott’s, I do understand that you are not the same. He was an unrepentant, cold-blooded killer. You are neither. You erred. You found your way back onto the right path. It would be foolish of me to punish you for returning to the family.”

Jason seemed to mull that over for a minute, before downing the rest of his rum, clearly not yet fully convinced. Lucius was not surprised. Jason had always lived on the ‘glass half empty’, skeptic side of life.

“It’s... going.” Jason finally said. “Getting used to the city again. Some parts of Gotham have changed quite a bit since I last lived here. Moved into the place Barb arranged three weeks ago. It’s nice. Lots of work right now, though.”

“I am happy to hear that,” Lucius re-filled half his glass, before going to retrieve the files from the locked drawer in his desk. ‘Lots of work’ was a common code among Mr. Wayne and his children for ‘I want out of this conversation’, and far be it from him to hold any one of them against their will. Especially when they looked like a caged rat.

He took the first of the four folders off the pile and spread the files out on the bar counter, neatly arranged in order of priority. Jason’s hands moved as if on automatic, moving the glasses and bottles as needed.

“Now, these are the application documents for your driver’s licence,” Lucius explained patiently as he pointed at the sheets to the very left. “I have already filled in all the required information, except for your current residence. That would be the two fields right here.” He put an X next to the respective boxes with a pencil and moved on. “These boxes down here are where you need to sign with the date and your full name. Every envelope,” he indicated the stack of generically brown folders next to all the papers, “includes a certified copy of your birth certificate and adoption papers, since you do not currently have any other valid form of identification.”

“Not under my real name at least,” Jason muttered through clenched teeth and Lucius smiled at the implication. He had no doubt that each of the children Mr. Wayne had adopted over the years had at least a handful of fake IDs.

“Now, in order to get your license, you will need to take these forms, your birth certificate, adoption records, copy of your rental lease, a photo, and twenty-four dollars to the MVC. Most malls offer at least one passport photo service that will charge you less than ten dollars for the picture. Take all the documents to the MVC. They will make you take a vision screening, a written test, and a road test. I recommend you get all of this done before your next birthday, because once you turn twenty-one, you will have to go through a provisional license and an examination permit first.”

“What the hell?” Jason raised an eyebrow at that. “Who came up with that bullshit rule?”

“I don’t know,” Lucius admitted in all honesty, “but I strongly encourage you to get this done as soon as possible.” He tucked the documents back into the envelope labeled ‘driver’s license’ and moved on to the one labeled ‘passport’.

“Once you have your driver’s license, use a certified copy of that, plus a copy of your birth certificate, a two-by-two inch photo, and the forms in this envelope to apply for your passport. It will probably take at least two months for the passport to arrive, but once you have that, you can save yourself the trouble of having your birth certificate copied and certified over and over.”

He watched Jason skim through the papers quickly. When he stuffed them back into the envelope without question, Lucius reached for the remaining two folders.

“This,” he held up the first, “has all the documents for your health insurance. The company is the same Mr. Wayne, Richard, Timothy, and I have been using for years without any trouble. This,” he held up the second, “has all the documents for your social insurance card application. I suggest you start with your driver’s license, then apply for the others one at a time. Once all your applications have been sent, I’ll be happy to help you claim your inheritance.”

“Happy...” Jason gathered the folders next to his almost empty glass. His fingers were tapping lightly, but almost compulsively against the drink. “Lucius... why are you doing this to yourself? You own the entire fucking company now and you deserve it. You should be kicking back and enjoying your life, not wasting this much time on playing legal advisor for me.”

“I am not _wasting_ anything, Jason,” Lucius assured him as he downed his own glass of bourbon. “I am helping a young, talented man get his affairs in order, so he can continue using his talents to do some good in the world without having to live like a shadow. It is one of the few things Mr. Wayne and I have always had in common. We don’t _waste_ our time. Time is the most precious good in the world. We spend it thoughtfully on the things and the people that truly deserve it.”

Despite the slight flush to his ears, Jason did not seem convinced. He eyed the folders suspiciously. “And you’re sure this is going to work? I mean... I’m not legally dead or anything, am I?”

“No.” Lucius felt his lips curl into a sad smile. “To declare someone legally dead in New Jersey requires either the presence of the body, which we did not have, or reasonable proof of likely death, which we _did_ have, but we could not really take a video of Robin getting shot down to the courthouse and say ‘this is Jason Peter Todd – please declare him dead’, or seven years of total lack of contact.”

He mustered the young man in front of him quickly. Jason had always looked older than he actually was, a regretful, but natural effect of the harshness of his first fourteen years of living, and the scars he had gained since were not helping. It would have been easy to forget that he was not even twenty-one yet, had it not been for the memory of the bright thunderbolt of a child who had run into him in the manor at age fourteen, dropping all his gadget doodles in the process and apologizing furiously, only to be completely dumbstruck when Lucius had complimented him on the designs rather than getting angry. There was still some of that boy left, Lucius was sure of it, and he was worth ‘wasting’ time on. He put one hand on Jason’s shoulder as lightly as he could.

“It hasn’t been seven years yet, Jason. It’s not too late.”

“He said that, too...” Jason murmured with a downright melancholic look at his glass. He picked up the envelopes and stored them safely in his bag, before retrieving a white folder of his own. “I was thinking... since the Batwing is no more, but we might still need field drops...”

Lucius accepted the folder with a curt nod and leafed through the contents quickly. The sketches were impeccable as always, fine, perfectly placed lines, expertly arranged and drawn with utmost care.

“They are drone designs. I made short-distance, attack-focused versions of these for the militia, but I believe with some tweaking and refining, they could make for efficient air drop carriers.”

“Thank you, Jason.” He patted him on the shoulder carefully and received the tiniest hint of a smile in return. It was not much, but it was progress. “I will have a look at these later tonight and get back to you as soon as possible. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Apparently, that was enough for Jason. He nodded, closed his bag, and reached out for a slightly awkward handshake. “Take care, Lucius. I’ve gotta dash. Work is waiting.”

Lucius smiled. Wasn’t it always?

***

His next visitor was Richard Grayson, and he arrived fashionably late. Some things never changed. Whereas Jason always arrived precisely on time – not a minute sooner or later than required - Richard was almost always just a few minutes late, and he was almost always in a hurry.

Tonight was no exception. The small-talk was brief, although thankfully much lighter this time, as was the paperwork. For Richard, all that needed arranging was his inheritance claim, and while that was an entirely different can of worms that had given Lucius an intense, but mercifully short-lived migraine not too long ago, Lucius found that once he had written one of those things, writing another two or three was a piece of cake.

They finished the boring part as quickly as they could, before taking the elevator down to the parking garage, and then yet another level deeper to the secret vault that only a handful of people had ever known about. The prototype for the new motorcycle was parked in the same spot as the Batmobile had always been, and Lucius watched with a smile on his face as Richard inspected the machine with all the glee of a child who had received a new toy, only pausing every once in a while to listen as Lucius explained the new features he had integrated.

“I will do some final calibrations later,” Lucius eventually finished. “You can pick her up any time after midnight.”

“Thanks, Lucius!”

This time, he got a full hug rather than a handshake. It was to be expected. Richard had always been the most affectionate and most extroverted member in the family. It was a refreshing change from the usual mood of doom and gloom that seemed to surround Mr. Wayne and his other sons, and Lucius smiled at the warmth that grew inside him at the sight of Richard’s own excitement. Mr. Wayne’s disappearance had hit his oldest son especially hard, Lucius knew. It was good to see that he was starting to recover from it.

“You know, I really appreciate you continuing to help us however you can,” Richard said as they moved back into the elevator and up to the parking garage. “I know you have a lot on your plate as it is and you can probably think of nicer ways to waste your free hours than helping us pick up where Bruce left off.”

Lucius couldn’t help grinning at that. “You know, Jason said almost exactly the same thing...”

“You’ve been talking to Jason?” Richard’s voice was a mixture of surprise and hope. “Like, recently?”

Lucius gave a cautious glance at his watch. “A little less than an hour ago, yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I have been helping him sort out his own paperwork. Coming back from being a ghost after so many years is not easy, but Jason is nothing if not persistent. He’ll cope.”

“Yeah...” The slight laugh Richard gave was almost hysterical. “He usually is.” Only once they reached the other motorcycle – now carefully transformed to hide all its nighttime gadgetry – did the smile on his face falter. “Thank you for looking after him, Lucius. He would never admit it, but I’m pretty sure he can use all the support he can get.”

Lucius couldn’t agree more. He pulled him in for a short hug, before wishing him the best of luck for the upcoming patrol, and watching him speed off into the maze of Gotham’s streets. The sun had just about started setting, dousing the city in a dim, orange glow as the elevator rocketed upwards to the top floor.

For him, the day was almost over. For the bats and birds, it had only just begun.

***

His final guest for the night was Timothy, who arrived a full fifteen minutes early, wearing an impeccably tailored suit and a perfectly neutral, welcoming smile. In contrast to Jason, who had arrived at the tower dressed in ordinary street clothes, and Richard, who had arrived with his uniform on top of his ‘uniform’, Timothy actually looked like he belonged in the upper floors of Wayne Tower, and for a moment Lucius could not help smiling at the similarity his attire invoked, compared to the picture of Thomas Wayne and his family hanging on the wall.

It lasted for less than twenty seconds after they exchanged greetings.

“Dear God, I hate ties!”

The offending blue-and-silver-striped item was the first thing to land on the couch to the left of the doors. The second was the jacket. The third was Timothy himself. With his feet on one end of the couch and his head on the other, he looked very much like he was in for a therapy session rather than a business meeting.

“Long day, Timothy?” Lucius smiled as he filled a glass of Applejack. Mr. Wayne’s youngest son accepted it with a curt nod.

“Thanks, Lucius.”

“So... how did your second meeting with the board of directors go?”

“Well, it went better than the first one,” Timothy said over a slight grin. He sat up slowly, one hand around the glass, the other smoothing out the creases he had inevitably put into his pants when he had surrendered to the seductive lull of gravity. “Though let’s be honest: it would have been hard for it not to.”

Lucius gave a slight grin at the call-back. He had not been there for the first time Timothy had set foot into a hall full of shareholders, directors, treasurers, and other important members of the leading ranks of Drake Industries, but it had been doomed to be a stressful affair for everyone.

Jack Drake had died in early February 2015, leaving a stagnating company that had not been managed to its full potential in the hands of a young man who had not even been old enough to inherit the company by the rules stated by his father and who had never even shown any interest in following in his father’s footsteps and going into business. Until his twenty-first birthday in July, all Timothy, Mr. Wayne, and Lucius had been able to do was watch from the sidelines as the company nearly tore itself apart. Mr. Wayne had suggested a merger, but Lucius had advised against it. Buying Drake Industries in its floundering state would not have gone over well with Wayne Enterprise’s shareholders and associates, and both companies stood more to gain from good management of DI and a healthy competition between the two.

The management had eventually come in form of Earl Jefferson, an old friend and fellow business graduate of Lucius, who had been brought in on account of his stellar reputation to save Drake Industries. He had done good work, consolidating and stabilizing the company’s assets, streamlining its portfolio and setting the course for profitable sales and acquisitions through a number of unofficial meetings. When Timothy had agreed to assume ownership of the company as intended, Jefferson had remained, effectively pulling all the strings, just as Lucius had done for Mr. Wayne throughout the years.

Unfortunately, that had not managed to save Drake Industries’ third quarterly meeting from being a nerve-wracking ordeal for the young man who now had to play catch-up to years of his father’s work and history, all the while juggling his teaching studies and his secret duties as Robin as well. He had gotten through that meeting by sheer application of the old ‘smile and nod’ technique and had come out of it looking at least five years older.

Earl had said he had been a real trouper.

This time, the quarterly meeting had been held almost three weeks late. Bruce Wayne’s ‘death’ had sent shockwaves throughout most branches of public life, including the business world. Many companies had scrambled to come up with a plan for maximizing their profits and minimizing their losses from the hit Wayne Enterprises had taken after the revelation, and while Drake Industries remained nothing more than a friendly competitor thanks to the personal interests of its owner and its CEO, a certain aggressiveness was to be expected.

“I’m thinking about taking some more classes. Maybe getting an MBA,” Timothy eventually continued. “Might help me actually understand a thing they are saying in the meeting.”

“Trust me, Timothy,” Lucius poured a finger of whiskey for himself and joined him on the armchair next to couch. “Understanding what is being said in those meetings is not nearly as important as knowing _who_ is saying it. And if anyone is a master at figuring out hidden motivations, it is you.”

Thankfully, that elicited the relieved smile Lucius had hoped for. “Thank you, Lucius.” He took a deep breath. “So, about the inheritance claim...”

Lucius felt a slight grin on his lips as he went and retrieved the folder. This was déjà vu at its finest. He handed the envelope over with a quick nod.

“This contains all the necessary paperwork. I have marked the spots you need to sign with an X, but feel free to read all of it in detail, if you want. You still have more than enough time to file your claim.”

Timothy leafed through the papers quickly before drawing another deep breath. “Thank you, Lucius. For everything. I know you are very busy as it is—“

“—and I can think of a great many things that would be more enjoyable than filing all this paperwork, but rest assured that I hold no resentment over Mr. Wayne’s decision to leave the company in my hands, and I am very happy to fulfill his wish of supporting you and the rest of the family to the best of my ability.”

Timothy’s eyes narrowed almost instinctively. “This is not the first time you’ve given this speech is it?”

“I may have had separate visits from your brothers earlier this evening,” Lucius admitted.

Timothy just shook his head and laughed. “Separate. Of course. No surprises there.” He glanced up at the picture above his head, the picture of Thomas and Martha Wayne with their young son, that had been painted less than half a year before their untimely deaths. “You know, Jason thinks he’s still alive. That he’s just faking it and he’ll be back under another name, in another suit, eventually.”

“He did always have good instincts,” Lucius conceded. “And higher intelligence than most people ever wanted to give him credit for.”

“What do you think, Lucius?”

Suddenly, Timothy sounded about two inches high. He didn’t sound like Timothy Drake, heir to and owner of Drake Industries, anymore, nor like Robin, the Boy Wonder, a role that fit him like a second skin. He sounded like Timothy, the sensitive, slightly neurotic young man Lucius had met many years ago, who had very carefully hidden his softer side and gentle nature under a mask of bravado and boisterous behavior. Sometimes, it was downright frightening how alike all three of Mr. Wayne’s sons were, despite sharing neither a single drop of the same blood nor much of the same upbringing.

He looked back and forth between the picture of Thomas and the young man on the couch. In the end, he downed his drink, put away the glass, and set down to grasp Timothy’s hand lightly.

“I think it does not matter whether Mr. Wayne is truly dead and gone forever or not. _You_ are still here. Richard and Jason are still here. Barbara is still here. And that alone makes each and every single one of you far more important right now than Mr. Wayne’s whereabouts could be.” Lucius swept his hand to the left to gesture at the office.

“Look around you, Timothy. This company’s modest foundations were laid by Alan Wayne, almost one-hundred and fifty years ago. He has been dead for more than a century, yet the company prevails. This office was build by Thomas Wayne. Thomas Wayne has been dead for almost three decades now, yet this tower still stands. Bruce Wayne may be gone. Batman may be gone. But Bruce Wayne’s children remain. The ideals Batman stood for remain, not necessarily in the same shape and form he had introduced them in, but that does not matter. If change were deemed a bad thing, this company would have sank and disappeared many years ago. The spirit, the legacy, of Bruce Wayne and Batman lives on. You are already making it your own with every decision you make, and so are your brothers and your wife. That is what truly matters.”

At last, the tension that had been clinging to Timothy’s chest and shoulders since their ‘meeting’ had begun finally started to dissipate. Lucius watched silently as he stood up, stretched, and slipped back into his tie and suit jacket, although neither were fastened as strictly as they had been before.

“Thank you, Lucius. You are a godsend.”

“Hardly,” Lucius gave a slight chuckle, “but I thank you for the compliment, nonetheless. Please let me know if you need anything else.”

Timothy assured him that he would, before ending their meeting with a quick hug. The automatic lights around the office came on just a few seconds after he had left, indicating that luminescence levels had finally dropped low enough to mark the transition from day to night. Lucius returned to his PC, logged in through the retina scanner and brought up the specifications for the new motorcycle he had designed for Nightwing. It wasn’t much work to do, but it was work that needed—no—wanted to get done nonetheless.

Life had been kind to him. Wayne Enterprises had been kind to him. Laura Wayne, Thomas Wayne, and Bruce Wayne had been kind to him. And he felt nothing short of honored to support their legacy in any way he could.


End file.
